


Nine Kinds of Liquor

by AtoTheBean



Series: Ato's 007 Fest Fan Creations [8]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Prompt Fill, cocktails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-06-22 05:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19660531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtoTheBean/pseuds/AtoTheBean
Summary: Q is a man of many talents.  Bond is about to learn of an unexpected one.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Anon Prompt Fill: Write anything. The title of your fic is "Nine Kinds of Liquor." - General Tab  
> Classic Prompt Table Fill: "Nobody does it better."

The truth is, Q is a terrible cook. Really, truly awful. Even beans-on-toast is better when someone else makes it. He can be trusted to boil water for tea, but anything solid is right out.

This is common knowledge, both among the people at work, and the odd friend who has the misfortune of being invited over for dinner.

What _isn’t_ well known is that he’s a dab hand at cocktails. _Craft_ cocktails. Things that go well beyond a ‘dirty martini’ (and perish the thought that he’d ever order something so vague and so drab.). It’s nearly an obsession. He’s developed a sort of brand, even. _Modern Medicinals._ One of the Minions designed a label for him to put on the bottles of his various infusions. Some of the Double-ohs have gone so far as to bring him specialty ingredients from their travels… things that can’t be found in the Duty-Free shop at Heathrow.

So, when James makes some comment doubting that Q is even old enough to drink, Q just rolls his eyes. Hard.

Eve actually laughs. “Oh, you’re in for a surprise...”

“For some of us, it’s a matter of quality over quantity,” Q asserts.

“I like quality,” James insists.

“You like exactly three things: fine whiskey, Hennessy, and a very basic vodka Martini. I listen to your missions, remember?”

That isn't _strictly_ true, but Bond can see why Q would think so. Still...“And you think those aren’t quality?”

“Oh, they’re fine. _Boring_ , but fine.”

“Our Q makes more than three different Manhattans alone,” Eve claims. “If he ever gets weary of hauling your arse out of the frying pan, he’s got a secondary career in mixology. Seriously, he’s an artist. _Nobody_ does it better.”

James is stunned. And doesn't really like being considered boring. “What does one have to do to be invited to sample these works of art?”

“Bring back your equipment,” Q quips with a gleam in his eye. “If you return all your equipment from Paris... _all_ of it... you and Eve can bring over small plates, and I’ll make the cocktails.”

Q is bribing him... with an invitation to his home? Eve has a devilish grin on her face and seems much more invested in his answer than Q is. Still... he's not _boring..._ He nods.

“Let’s start him on my drink,” Eve suggests, leaning into Q conspiratorially and bumping his shoulder.

“Too light for this time of year,” Q insists, looking Bond over thoughtfully. “Maybe in the spring. If he’s good.”

That's how it starts. James leaves Q Branch with his gear, feeling their eyes on his back and wondering just what exactly he's gotten himself into.


	2. Figcello di Sonoma and Toschi Nocello Walnut Liqueur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random Prompt Table: Honey
> 
> Random Prompt Table: Bravo

1 - Figcello di Sonoma: Black Mission Figs infused with a secret recipe of 18 botanicals. Traditional French flavors of fennel, anise, orange peel, and vanilla.

2 - Toschi Nocello Walnut Liqueur: Walnut liqueur infusion aged 2 years. Produced during St. John's night, on the 24th of June according to the old recipe of the Toschi family.

It’s a cold night, three weeks later, when James picks Eve up and follows her directions to Q’s flat - a small modern loft in a very old building. Security is surprisingly good — he’d have a harder time breaking in here than he did in M’s Chelsea home -- but what is really impressive, James thinks as Q hangs their coats and invites them in, is the bar. A single piece of reclaimed wood, beautiful grain finely polished. Behind it is a lighted glass cabinet holding at least 100 carefully arranged bottles, some of which have handwritten labels. Above that, a shelf holds three 1-liter casks, the name “Modern Medicinals” burned into them in a clean, simple font. The rest of the room is comfortable, but where some homes focus on an entertainment center or fireplace, or even kitchen, Q’s bar is the focal point of his living space.

“What did you bring?” Q asks, and it strikes James that though the syllables are still crisp, there's something more relaxed in the way Q speaks here. A softness and ease in the way he carries himself. James senses he’s being privileged with a glimpse behind the Quartermaster’s persona, and he’s not sure what he’s done to merit it. He does try to deserve it, though, with the food he’s brought back from the mission.

“I brought artisan Brie from this little town in France — it’s meant to be heated, actually,” James says, “and two things to put over it: herb-infused honey and a savory fruit compote. The grocer in Gaillac suggested both, and I couldn’t decide which you’d like better.”

“And I’ve got fresh bread from the bakery you told me about in Brixton and a lovely looking pâté,” Eve says, unpacking her bag. “I can start slicing the bread,” she adds, heading into the kitchen she’s clearly familiar with.

“Oh, that sounds lovely. Let’s get the oven warming, and I can get started on the drink. I know just what can go with this.”

Ten minutes later, they are sitting comfortably around the bar, warm Brie and bread and pâté served in the center and little plates in front of them. Q has removed an assortment of bottles and other ingredients from his shelves and laid them out on the bar. He fills a shaker with ice from a dedicated icemaker beneath the bar — something James has never seen in a home — adds the ingredients seemingly from memory. He makes a bit of a show of shaking the concoction and pours it into three coupe glasses with a flourish, garnishing each one with a skewer of dark cherries on a silver cocktail pick.

“[Walnut Fig Manhattan](https://ato-the-bean.tumblr.com/post/186213062545/qs-walnut-fig-manhattan),” Q announces, passing the drinks out. “A bit more rich and complex than the standard version. Bon Appetit.”

They toast, and James has to admit that it’s the best Manhattan he’s ever had. More flavorful, with a dark subtle sweetness and nutty aftertaste that blends perfectly with the food.

“Bravo, Q. I’m very impressed.” 

That startles a smile from the boffin. Not the usual wry smirk James has seen at work, but a wide, genuine grin. It lights up his entire face, and James hides his own reaction behind a sip of his drink.

Not before Moneypenny sees it, though. Damn.

By the end of the light meal, he feels completely satisfied, but not overly full or tipsy. He thanks Q for the hospitality as he leaves with Eve, and Q just shrugs and says he’s happy to share, giving James an odd, contemplative look.

James finds the whole thing quite intriguing.


	3. Pallini Limoncello Liqueur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff Prompt free space: magic

3 - Pallini Limoncello Liqueur, Italy: Natural zest from the fragrant peel of Sfusato lemons hand-picked on the Amalfi coast, and infused for up to eight months in the finest pure spirit.

“I’m in the mood for Asian food tonight,” Eve announces as James hands in his gear with Q.

“I’m delighted to hear it, Moneypants,” Q says distractedly, checking James’ gear off and noting where the mechanisms need refurbishing.

“James has brought all his gear back,” Eve says. “Doesn’t that mean we’re having a happy hour at your place?”

Q looks up, startled. “I did agree to that, didn’t I?”

“It’s fine if you have other plans, Q. I don’t expect that sort of treatment every time,” James insists.

“But I don’t… have plans that is. Oh, and 003 brought me fresh basil from Spain... it’s still too cold here for my herb garden. Hmmm.” He looks at the clock. “There’s a Vietnamese shop on Union that has _phenomenal_ spring rolls.”

Eve grins. “See you at 7.”

A few hours later Q is letting them in and helping them with their coats and the bag of Vietnamese food that has been making Bond’s stomach grumble the entire drive over. He asks, “Bond, are you allergic to grapefruit juice, or need to avoid it for some reason?” as he leads them over to the bar. James sees that Q has already laid out ingredients and tools… and it’s an impressive lot. Three kinds of citrus fruit, a hand juicer, sprigs of basil propped up in a glass of water, a mortar and pestle( _?!_ ), along with a large bottle of vodka and a smaller one of Limoncello.

“Oooh,” Eve says gleefully, eyeing what’s laid out. “[Tanner’s favorite](https://ato-the-bean.tumblr.com/post/186280407521/tanners-favorite)!” she comments as she heads into the kitchen, giving Q a quick peck on the cheek before making herself at home. James’ mind stutters for a moment, as Q’s fond gaze follows her, wondering if they’re _dating_.

“Grapefruit juice is fine,” James says, recovering awkwardly. “I’m not a huge fan of Limoncello, though.”

That brings Q up short. “Really? Whyever not?”

James shrugs. “It tastes like a lemon sherbet, and my palette has matured since I was eight.”

Q gives him a characteristic smirk before considering what Bond’s said more seriously. “So you’ve only had it neat? After dinner or something?”

James nods. “In Italy, when it’s served as a _treat_ and I have little choice but to ‘enjoy’ it.”

“Well, I promise it won’t be like that as a mixer in this drink. I could try leaving it out, but it actually does a nice job balancing the bitterness of the grapefruit and adding complexity to the drink. And I promise that if you don’t like it, I’ll make you something else. Okay to try it?”

Bond nods in assent, watching Eve move through Q’s kitchen, pulling out plates and cutlery and dishing everything up. She knows exactly where to find everything. Interesting.

Meanwhile, Q places several chopped basil leaves in the mortar with a shot of vodka and starts macerating them, turning the liquid a vibrant green. James takes a seat at the bar, enjoying the soft jazz playing in the comfortable space. And the view. The bar area looks much the same as it did last time he was here, though there are now electronic devices next to each of the small casks on the top shelf, each displaying a different number: 27, 24, and 14. James is struck again by how differently Q carries himself here compared with the office. It makes sense, he supposes. Q’s home, after all. But James is also feeling more relaxed as a result, sensing the tension of the mission slip away despite the fact they haven’t had a drink yet.

Q juices the fruit and measures out ingredients, pouring them into a large shaker as he chats with Eve about what they’ve brought to eat. His movements are practiced, but there’s no pretense. He’s not precious about his skills, just effortlessly competent. Without a recipe. Again.

“This is my favorite bit,” Eve says once Q has added most of the ingredients. “Take a look at that color,” Eve instructs.

Bond leans in to look inside the shaker. Between the pink grapefruit juice and orange juice, the concoction has a rosy hue.

“Now he’s going to add that dark green vodka. What color do you think it will go?” she asks James.

 _Mud brown_ , he thinks, but he just shrugs at her.

“I swear this is a magic trick,” Eve says as Q adds what’s in the mortar and places the lid on the shaker. “Or Q’s an honest-to-god mad scientist.”

“Well, I am a _bit_ of a scientist,” Q replies as he shakes the cocktail, “and obviously _mad_ to meet with you lot after hours…”

“Hush,” she says, moving her glass toward Q and bumping his shoulder with hers. “I get first pour for that.”

Q gives her a fond look and does the honors. The drink is a beautiful golden color, rich and aromatic. Q pours the rest and passes the glasses out, watching eagerly as James raises his and takes a sip.

It’s delicious. Somehow _savory_ despite the juice and Limoncello. Between the sharpness of the grapefruit and the botanical tinge of the basil, whatever sweetness there is just makes the finish smooth.

And it goes perfectly with the spring rolls and other dishes Eve selected.

James has never really thought about pairing cocktails and food — generally opting to have them before a meal — but he has to admit this complements the food better than any wine could. It’s flavorful enough to stand up to the spice and other flavors, and neutral enough not to fight them.

They settle into their meal, the conversation easy, if not very illuminating. James watches them, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. They’re clearly closer than he’d realized, physically leaning into each other and affection clear in their demeanor. But he never feels like a third wheel. They’re clearly happy to have him there. So if it’s a relationship, it’s probably not a new one, which means he’s been missing it for _months_.

He’s not sure why he cares. Not sure which of them he might feel jealous of, if that’s the feeling niggling the back of his mind.

He only knows that the evening is over far too quickly and that he needs to buy a bottle of Limoncello and a mortar and pestle.

Fortunately, Q knows where to send him.


	4. Vodka Infusions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff Table Fill: breeze  
> Fluff Table Fill: starshine

4 -Vodka infusions

  * Vodka infused with dried apricots: Fill jar ½ full with diced dried apricots. Top with vodka and seal. Store in a cool dark place for 2 weeks, or until rich in color and flavor. Strain and store in an airtight bottle.
  * Vodka infused with rosemary: Wash several sprigs of rosemary and clip leaves. Place in a jar with vodka, seal and place in a dark, cool cabinet. Taste _daily_. When flavorful (usually 1-3 days), strain and store in an airtight bottle.
  * Vodka infused with lavender: Rinses several inflorescences of lavender. Remove flowers and place in a jar with vodka. Seal and place in a dark, cool cabinet. Taste _daily_. When flavorful (usually 1-3 days), strain and store in an airtight bottle.



By the time James returns from his next mission, London is in the midst of the first heatwave of the summer. It makes him miss the Mediterannean breezes and casual attire of Greece. It’s far too hot for a suit, but 007 cannot return from mission in anything else. So he’s sticky and ill-tempered, especially since the mission was only a partial success.

But what’s more annoying than all that is the fact that he is a spy — a _damned good spy_ — and he cannot get a confirmation about whether Q and Eve are dating. Everyone seems surprised by his subtle questions, at first denying the possibility but then acknowledging that they _do_ spend rather a lot of time together. He seems to plant the idea in more heads than he does retrieve any actual information, and that is not his intention.

The trouble is, Eve is usually his goto for office gossip. She has enough reason to know things and enough subtlety that people share a lot with her. But James doesn’t want to tip his hand that either (1) she’s managed to keep something from him so long or (2) he’s jumping to an incorrect conclusion or (3) that he cares enough to be curious about their status.

And he’s still trying to work out _why_ he cares. Neither of them responds to his flirting with more than an eye-roll. He processed Eve’s rejection years ago and was never particularly serious about any of it with Q, anyway. But that smile of Q’s has come to mind more than once over the last few weeks. Both the startled one he gave Bond and the fond, comfortable one he gave Eve.

He makes his way to Q Branch, which is blessedly cool compared to the rest of the building. And sure enough, Eve is there in a stunning strapless sheath, perched on a stool by Q’s workbench, reading a tablet. Thick as thieves, these two.

“007,” Q says as he approaches.

“Q,” James replies, taking the metal tray Q slides over. “And Miss Moneypenny,” he adds as he begins placing items from his kit in the tray.

“Welcome home, James. When do we get to come over?” she asks of Q.

“It’s early, Moneypenny, and I assure you it's just as warm in my flat as it is in your office.”

Eve pouts.

“I’m not sure I’m deserving, anyway,” James replies, placing the pieces of the all-in-one tool Q had built for him to access the panel in the warehouse. “I think I got all the pieces, but…” He shrugs.

“I’m not going to hold it against you when a piece of tech can’t hold up in a mission, Bond,” Q says, holding up one of the pieces and studying the break. “And _because_ you brought the pieces back, we can actually analyze the weakness and alter the design.”

James nods, pleased that Q isn’t more upset.

“I need a spa treatment, Q. It’s been a bloody awful week,” Eve complains. “I’ve handed off the reports to M and he’s taking them home to read before meeting with the PM. I’m basically done for the day.”

“What’s happening?” James asks. He’s not aware of anything dire from the news.

“Just budgets and politics,” Q says wearily. “Be grateful you missed it. That and two missions this week didn’t go as planned. It’s not our _worst_ week by a long shot, but it has been vexing and exhausting. The bright spots are you made it back without injury and the air conditioning the server rooms is still functioning, so I don’t need to be here over the weekend. R’s on duty. Climate control in the rest of the building—and the city for that matter—is quite taxed. Which is why, if we’re having a spa treatment tonight, we shouldn’t start until after 8 when things have cooled off a bit.” He gives Eve a small smile.

She perks up. “Are you serious? Do you have the infusions ready?”

“Ye of little faith,” Q quips. “I’ll leave you and Bond to decide on dinner, but nothing that has to be warmed in the oven, please.” Q checks in the last of the equipment and offers James a small nod acknowledging that he’s dismissed.

James isn’t quite sure what he’s getting himself into. “What sort of ‘spa treatment’?”

“The best kind,” Eve says, taking his arm to lead him from the branch. “The very best kind.”

James finds himself at Q’s door hours later, changed into worn jeans and a tee that Eve suggested he wear. “We’re trying to be comfortable, James,” she insists. “I know you somehow _never_ sweat, but I’m hot just looking at you in that suit.”

“That’s generally the effect I’m hoping for,” James says, because really, with an opening like that, how can he not?

The door opens just in time for Q to see Eve slap his arm hard enough to make him wince.

“I deserved that,” James assures before Q can ask; he ushers them in with a roll of his eyes.

“I’ve already got things laid out on trays, but could use some help carrying it upstairs,” Q says. He grabs a tray with several bottles, a shaker, and Ice, leaving James to carry one with a bottle of Prosecco and champagne flutes, and small shot glasses. James follows him to a spiral staircase that leads to a rooftop garden, complete with… well, a garden. Planter boxes of herbs and small potted citrus trees surround a patio area with a table and chairs. There’s a light breeze and a lovely view of the sunset over the city. Speakers on the rail play music that sounds vaguely like something he’s heard in trendy clubs with low tables and 20somethings sipping cocktails, interesting but unobtrusive.

Eve is right behind them, carrying the poke and assortment of other cold dishes they’d brought, along with dishes she’s grabbed in the kitchen.

“This is more like it,” Eve says, taking a deep breath. I feel better already. Oooh, and Prosecco. R really is on duty tonight!”

Q just smirks at her.

“How can you tell that from the fact there’s Prosecco?” James asks.

“Well, this is [_my_ drink](https://ato-the-bean.tumblr.com/post/186182620500/eve-moneypennys-spa-treatment),” Eve states proudly, “but it can be made in a number of ways. What goes in the shaker is pretty much all vodka.”

James looks at the three bottles on Q’s tray. None of them is clear.

“Infusions,” Q clarifies. “Apricot, rosemary, and lavender,” he adds, pointing to each in turn. It’s then that James notices the small label with the ‘Modern Medicinals’ logo and Q’s slanting scrawl underneath, specifying each flavor.

“You do these?” he asks.

Q nods and pouring a bit from the first bottle into a small shot glass. “Try this one neat.”

James is struck first by the nose: bright, fruity and undeniably apricot. He takes a sip and… it’s rich. Richer than most cognacs. Almost too sweet to drink neat, though it doesn’t taste sugary, just intense. He nods his approval and takes another sip. As long as they are small sips, it’s pleasant.

“Sweet and strong, like our Eve,” he says, pouring a measure into the shaker, “but lacking her complexity. That’s where these come in,” he says, opening the next bottle.

James holds up his shot glass.

“Oh, you don’t want to drink these neat. I only put a bit in, but it makes all the difference.” Q closes the lid and starts shaking.

“So that lot gets diluted, see?” Eve continues. “If we’re needing to keep our wits about us, Q just fills the glasses halfway and tops them off with sparkling water. But if we aren’t on call, he can put a bit more in.”

“And the Prosecco?” James asks.

“Mixing with the Prosecco means that Q needs this as much as I do, and has no responsibilities at the moment and can get well and truly sloshed.”

“Not that I will,” Q insists. “I have more control than _some_ people like to imply.”

James just smiles and grabs the Prosecco bottle, enjoying the satisfying _pop_ as he works the cork loose. Q fills each of the flutes three-quarters with the mixture and James tops them off slowly with the Prosecco.

They toast, and the drink is delicious and nothing like James has ever had before... and very aptly named. Eve makes a basically pornographic moan after her first sip, causing Q to turn conspiratorially to James and snigger.

The dinner is light and refreshing and exactly what the hot, breezy evening calls for. They talk a bit of shop, but then as James asks, Q shares some of his thought process for combining the elements of the drink into something that not only becomes Eve’s favorite, but seems to almost embody her. Eve sits beside him, resting her head on his shoulder as he speaks, basking in the indirect attention.

“You’re ruining me for other men, Q.”

He kisses the top of her brow. “He hasn’t called, then?”

She shakes her head and sighs, taking another sip of her drink and waving it in the air when she realizes it’s empty.

“He doesn’t deserve you, love,” Q says, pouring more of the shaker contents into her glass and nodding at James to top it off.

The sun sets and the breeze picks up, stars flicker overhead as the fairy lights flicker in the garden. Over the next few hours, Q does get… if not sloshed, more relaxed than James has ever seen him. James has a pleasant buzz as well, but Eve eventually abandons the table and moves to the chaise while Q and James continue their conversation. It feels… intimate, in the same way being with Alec is intimate: he doesn’t have to hide who he is, can wander between subjects relating to missions or work or hobbies, cars, music, astronomy... Q is quite knowledgeable in topics ranging far beyond tech and even has a telescope set up that he uncovers to show James the moons of Jupiter that are currently visible. And Q still looks fondly over at Eve now and again as she contributes to the conversation from the comfort of the chaise, but James is noticing that _he’s_ on the receiving end of some interesting looks as well. At the very least, curious and considering looks. Perhaps even appreciative.

“Q? Can I stay over tonight?” Eve asks when the moon has risen and they’ve put the telescope away and she’s nearly fallen asleep.

“Of course, love. You know you have permanent dibs on the guest room.”

“I’ll just stay here. It’s lovely,” she sighs.

“You won’t think that when the sun rises at 5,” Q points out.

Eve just huffs in response, making Q and James chuckle.

“You can stay here for a bit,” Q says, standing again and gathering bottles onto the tray.

“Let me help you,” James offers, and they carefully bus the barware back down into the flat. As they approach the bar James realizes the numbers next to the casks on the top shelf have changed. Odd. “You and Eve are closer than I realized,” James ventures, finally comfortable that he understands their relationship.

“We each have the other’s back,” Q confirms. “We’re both new enough in our roles and young enough to occasionally find the old guard frustrating, but we’re high enough up that we can’t complain to others in our departments. That’s how it started anyway. Now we just really _like_ each other,” Q says, putting the bottles away and the glasses by the sink. He sighs and leans against the counter. “Pity she’s a girl.”

James barks an unexpected laugh, feeling of warmth of interest bloom as another theory gets confirmed. And this confidence is deliberate — neither he nor Q are very bad off...several drinks in, but over hours and with food. Which means Q is showing James some amount of trust, which warms him further.

“Well, she does pull it off rather nicely,” James asserts.

“That she does,” Q snorts. “That she does.”

“Who does she hope will call?”

“I can’t tell you that. It’s her story. But he’s a bloody fool to keep her hanging.”

“Agreed. Anyone who has her interest and is sitting on his hands is an idiot.” They share another moment of camaraderie.

“What about you?” Q asks.

“What about me what?” James asks, wondering if Q is asking about his _love life_.

“Are you okay to drive? It’s later than I realized, and we made two rounds.”

“What are you offering?” James asks, because again, he _cannot_ resist an opening.

Q just rolls his eyes and snorts. “The sofa,” he says. “And coffee and toast in the morning. And a view of Eve _spectacularly_ hungover.”

James chuckles. “And you? Will you be doing any damage in your pajamas before your first cup of tea?”

Q grins and seems to appreciate that James remembers. “I’m off duty, remember?”

“Ah yes. Well, in that case, I think I’ll head home. But let me help you get Miss Moneypenny down the stairs.”

They get her tucked in and fed a large glass of water and several Paracetamol tablets, and Q sees him to the door, already in bare feet and somehow so soft that James wants to reach out and brush his fringe from his brow… which he absolutely should not do.

“Thank you for another lovely evening, Q. I find myself looking forward to them now, as I head back from a mission.”

“Me too,” Q responds with a small smile.

There’s a moment of almost awkwardness between them. A moment when, on another night where they’d had a little more to drink or a little less, one of them might have leaned in to kiss the other’s cheek. It hangs there, the moment, and James can smell Q’s aftershave and see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. He wonders what Q sees.

“Goodnight, James,” Q finally says softly. “Be safe driving home.”

“I will do,” James responds, stepping away and slipping his hands into his pockets to check for his keys. Avoiding temptation. “I’ll see you Monday.”

Q watches him as he heads to the lift, and James feels light as he walks into the warm night.


	5. Gins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff Table Fill: earth  
> Fluff Table Fill: thistle
> 
> Q did some research in a head canon before this chapter: https://ato-the-bean.tumblr.com/post/186416418500/q-actually-has-considered-what-sort-of-cocktail

His next mission is flawless and rather short, and he enters Q Branch sure of a pleasant evening. As Q checks him in, though, he can’t help but notice Eve’s absence.

“Miss Moneypenny caught up in meetings?” James ventures.

“No” Q replies, and with a bit of a gleam in his eye, he adds. “She’s left for the day.”

“That’s…” _Unfortunate._ “Unexpected,” James settles on, wondering what this means for the evening. Will Q feel comfortable enough to invite him over without their usual third?

Come to think of it, Q looks exhausted. His movements are a bit slow and he rubs his eyes under his glasses as he checks in Bond’s equipment. It’s all there, and none of it’s even broken.

“Long week?” James guesses.

“For me, yes. A bit. But Miss Moneypenny is away for more pleasant reasons.”

James raises an eyebrow.

“Remember the bloke who wasn’t calling? Well, he called.”

“Indeed?” James responds conspiratorially. “Well, good for him.”

“Yes, saves me having to give him a good talking to.” Q nods as he checks in the last piece. It could be a dismissal of sorts, but James doesn’t take it.

“You seem a bit tired for hosting tonight. Perhaps you’d join me for some research instead.”

That piques Q’s interest. “What sort of ‘research’?”

“Well, there’s a distillery in Notting Hill, not far from where I live. I’ve seen it on my way home. They have classes in gin-making where you get to combine your own herbs and they’ll run it through their sills. Of course, that’s a bit of a commitment; you don’t get the results for about three years.” Q snorts, but James can tell he has his interest. “But they also have an extensive bar, with flights not only of their own gins but gins all over the UK. I’ve been meaning to try it. Perhaps you’d find some new ingredients for your concoctions.”

Q stares at him for a moment. “You’re asking me… out for a drink?”

“As I said, you seem a bit tired. I don’t know if you intended to make cocktails tonight given that Eve is out, but…” James shrugs. “Of course, if you’d rather not, that’s fi—”

“I’d love to, thanks.” Q is giving him a curious look. “I can always use a new gin or two. What time do you want to meet?”

“I could pick you up, if you like.”

“No, I don’t want to leave my vehicle here, and it would be out of your way to get me home anyway.”

They agree on a time and Q looks up the address on his phone. James leaves the branch to check in with M.

Hours later, he’s at a small booth near the back with an excellent view of the picture window and glass door. It’s just past the time they’d agreed on when someone pulls up to the front of the restaurant on a sleek motorbike. James is admiring the lines of the bike and the lines of the man in black jeans and a leather jacket, only to realize when he removes his helmet that it’s _Q._

He nearly chokes on his water.

“Hey, sorry, have you been waiting long? I decided to run some paperwork home so I didn’t have to worry about it while we were out,” Q says, sitting on the bench across from James and laying the helmet beside him.

“I thought you were off duty this weekend,” James says, handing Q a menu.

“I’m meant to be, but just after you came by R...achel noticed something odd in the information we were processing in advance of Edward’s next… business trip. I want to look it over.”

R found the intelligence about 001’s next mission fishy, James translates for himself, pleased to see that Q is careful when in public. “When does Edward head out?”

“Still to be determined,” Q says. “Middle of next week, probably. My god, they have six pages of gins alone. How did I not know about this place?”

James quirks a smile. “And food, if you're peckish.”

“I am, actually,” he says, turning the menu back to the food pages. “Have you ordered anything yet? It looks like small plates.”

“I haven’t. I only got here about ten minutes before you did and hadn’t made it past page three of the menu, yet.”

Q snorts. “Well, I’m definitely ordering a gin flight. And those naan tacos look interesting…”

They decide on the small plates and get through ordering the food, when Q stumbles on ordering his flight. “The Botanist, the Black Thistle, and… damn, there are too many I want to try. Would you recommend Crossbill with these or the Rock Rose?” he asks, looking up at the waiter.

Before the lad can answer, James jumps in. “Just order my flight, too. I was going to order based on the names. You’ve obviously given this more thought.”

Q smiles at him. “What were you thinking of?”

“Well, Teasmith seems an obvious choice, given my present company.” He watches Q as he reads the description and laughs when he gets to the bit about the tea. “And on another night I might have chosen Lone Wolf, but it doesn’t seem appealing at the moment.”

“Okay,” Q says, looking back at the waiter. “Put the Rock Rose on my flight, then on his, the Teasmith, the Crossbill, and… Kirsty’s Gin.”

The waiter leaves with one menu so they have access to the descriptions as they taste. The fights come first, and Q explains the differences in production style, base spirits, botanicals… even the origin of the juniper used… as they taste them. Each is unique, but one thing becomes clear as the conversation continues. All of these gins are Scottish. And most are dominated by Scottish botanicals as well. Interesting.

“So, the _Spa Treatment_ was made for Eve?” James asks, changing the subject a bit.

Q straightens his glasses. A tell when he’s surprised or worried about divulging something, James thinks. “Yes. I’d just finished the apricot infusion and was pleased with how it’d come out, and Eve was over extolling its virtues and complaining about stress from work and men.”

“As one does,” James adds.

“Exactly, as one does,” Q responds with a glint in his eye. “I was apparently exempted from this particular complaint, though I’m not sure why, because she routinely hands me my arse when she thinks it’s needed… anyway, she was saying she needed to go somewhere where they worked lavender-scented oil into her neck and shoulders and she could just sip the apricot vodka and listen to downbeat lounge music. And, well, I had the herbal infusions, and I had the Prosecco they normally serve in those spas.”

“And the music,” James adds.

“And the music,” Q confirms. “It took us several hours to get it right and we were _utterly_ pissed by the end. In the morning I found notes on the back of a cocktail napkin that even _I_ could barely decipher, half of it crossed out at written over. But I managed to pull the final recipe off the back of that napkin.” Q shrugs and takes a sip of the Rock Rose.

“And the time before, Eve called the magic trick drink ‘Tanner’s favorite’... you made that one for him?”

“He doesn’t know,” Q says. “I mean, he knows it’s his favorite, but he doesn’t know I made it for him. He’d never been over before, but we’d all gone out for drinks after work, and while the rest of us ordered whiskey or rye drinks, he always ordered things that had a juice base so they wouldn’t be so strong. But he didn’t like them sweet, see? So that was a challenge. To come up with a juice-based drink that would track as savory. And there are a lot of drinks where you muddle herbs, but that only releases some of the flavors, so I kept experimenting.”

James smiles, because of _course_ Q couldn’t resist a challenge and would keep experimenting.

“So a bit later, Eve decides we’re inviting everyone to mine for a meal—”

“As one does.”

“As _she_ does, anyway. And she was bringing over Asian food, and Tanner was coming, so I took what I’d learned and made the drink for the first time. And he liked it. Everyone liked it. So it became part of the rotation.”

James nods. “It’s a good drink. I’m not sure I’d order it unless I knew there’d be spring rolls, but I did enjoy the… what? Sort of pungent finish, with the grapefruit and basil. It’s refreshing.”

Their food arrives, and they rearrange things on the table to make room for the small plates. It’s good, and James enjoys sharing with Q like this, each of them tasting the same things and able to talk about them. It strikes him again, this sort of easy intimacy he can share with Q as they smile at each other across the table. It doesn’t feel like seduction. More like the brother-in-arms feeling he gets with Alec. But as he watches Q’s nimble fingers on the glasses of gin, sees his eyes light up — are they greener tonight than usual? — James realizes just how easily it could tip in that direction. For him at least. He feels something flip in his stomach as he remembers standing outside Q’s door as they said goodnight last time. He has that same feeling now, and he’s not even standing close.

“What about the other drink. The Manhattan. Who was that made for?” James asks. He doesn’t even feel nosy, because Q’s been so open with him. But Q’s demeanor changes, and he’s almost blushing.

“That one’s mine,” Q admits. “There are… there are a lot of bad Manhattans in the world.”

James barks a laugh, pleased to have this insight into Q’s taste. He’s not always just making drinks for others, it would seem. James leans back at takes another sip of the Kirsty’s Gin. Just smiling.

“Well, there are,” Q insists.

“I agree. I’m glad you’ve put a stop to all that maraschino nonsense.”

Q actually makes a face at the mention of the hot pink cherry, and James laughs again.

Their plates get cleared and they’re offered a small dish of sherbet each to cleanse their palates.

There’s a lull in the conversation. And Q’s shared so much so openly tonight, James feels the desire to reciprocate. He has no idea if Q is feeling this same...tug between them that James is feeling, but it’s only fair that Q be warned.

“I once created a cocktail for someone,” James says quietly, watching the legs on the glass as he tips the gin back and forth. This is the tea one… a bit oily, but nice. Q has gone still across the table from him, and James glances up and sees understanding. Good. Q’s read the files. He knows at least some version of it. “I think I did it wrong, though, now that I’ve seen your methods at work.”

Q straightens his glasses and leans forward. “How so?” he asks solemnly.

James looks away, sets his glass down and picks up another… the glass he’s decided is his favorite of this lot. “I was projecting. I created it based on my likes and named it for her, but it didn’t really have much to do with her. Not the real her. I hadn’t taken the time to learn what she really liked, or what _she_ was really like. I barely scratched the surface of her front. I imagined that drink to be an act of generosity, but it wasn’t really. It was more like a claim I was staking.”

Q doesn’t respond immediately, taking a sip of what James thinks must be _his_ favorite. The Botanist, if James remembers the order of the glasses correctly.

“I think perhaps you’re taking on too much responsibility for that failure,” Q finally says quietly. “It’s hard to avoid projection when people are trying not to let you in. I’ve made that mistake myself, you know.”

“Have you?” And James isn’t asking about drinks.

“Oh yes… perhaps not so…”

“ _Spectacularly_?” James suggests as an adverb.

“You do have a knack for the spectacular,” Q admits with a bit of a sad smile. “Mine didn’t involve an international incident, nor result in anyone’s death, but I felt it all the same. Made me cautious for a long time.”

“And now?”

Q looks into his drink. “I’m feeling much less cautious than I did a year or two ago. Having a place where I feel I belong helps incredibly, as does Eve’s occasional dope-slaps. She would go so far as to assert that we… both of us… each of us,” he corrects, “deserves some sort of happiness that goes beyond… how did she say it? ‘Cats, cars, and cocktails’.”

James snorts a soft laugh. “Well, if Miss Moneypenny thinks so…”

“Quite. But it’s good, you know… carrying those failures in our hip pockets,” Q straightens his specs and looks directly at James. “Makes us notice when others are actually opening up, because we know what it looks like when they aren’t.”

“That’s true.” James meets his gaze and is pleased to see no sign of trepidation. Q knows his past, and he isn’t afraid of it. Which is very gratifying and makes James want to know more. But perhaps he’ll just get a better understanding of Q’s tastes for now. “So, what do you make of this one?” James asks, holding out the Crossbill.

Q sniffs it and takes a sip. “I like the peatiness. You can taste the earth in it and the coriander in the finish is nice. You can taste the earth in quite a few of these, actually, which is a nice change from the usual juniper.”

“Yes, and you may like the earthiness, but your favorite is the one with the 31 botanicals,” James claims, pointing to the Botanist. He’s pleased when Q nods and smiles. “The most complex and the most balanced. It’s fitting.”

Q blushes a bit, and it’s lovely. “So which is your favorite?” Q asks, nodding at the nearly empty glasses of gin.

James holds out the Kirsty’s, and Q takes it and takes a sip, licking it off his lips in a very distracting manner as he reaches for the menu to reread the description.

“I can see it,” Q claims.

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, the kelp makes it a bit salty…” Q raises an eyebrow pointedly in James’ direction.

James barks a laugh. “Oi. I’ve been very polite tonight!”

“Suspiciously so, actually,” Q says, though his expression is all humor, and James just basks in it. “Then there’s the thistle.”

James understands the game now. “Because I’m prickly and hard to get close to.”

Q smiles… not his usual smirk, but the surprised, disarming smile that nearly takes James’ breath. “They’re relatives of artichokes, you know.”

James just shrugs, not sure where this is going.

“Means they have hearts. The flowers do, beneath the prickles.”

James shakes his head, eyes crinkling as he takes the glass from Q and drinks the last of it. “Well, don’t let that get out. You’ll absolutely _ruin_ my reputation.”

“Don’t worry, James,” Q says with a wry grin. “Your secrets are safe with me.”


	6. Cognac and Absinthe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a recipe for this ready to post on Tumblr but it's being problematic, so I'm not sure I'll get it done before I leave wifi access tomorrow through the end of fest... oh well. I have several things started that probably won't get done, but it's been a hectic few weeks. So this is likely a mess since I didn't really edit. Sorry...I'll clean it up later.
> 
> We're moving into a bit of angst here... gird your loins...

6 - COURVOISIER XO COGNAC: Cognac, France- A selection by our Master Blender of beautifully matured eaux de vie, aged from 11 to 25 years, to highlight the complexity and richness of cognac aromas. The finished product is intensely aromatic and flavourful, with a velvety texture and aromatic bouquet.

7 - ABSINTHE ORDINAIRE: France- Handcrafted in rural southern France using only the highest quality distillation methods and ingredients. Made from natural, traditional Absinthe botanicals, not oils or essences, including a full measure of the legendary botanical Wormwood.

Edward’s mission goes tits up on the second day, and Q is caught in his branch for the next 36 hours trying to get him out of trouble. It doesn’t work. He’s been dark for an hour when M enters Q Branch along with Tanner and Moneypenny.

“Who else do we have on the ground?” M asks.

“I’ve already scrambled 006 to the scene. He should be arriving shortly. R is tracking the car that we think has data.”

“Where is it now?”

“Still in the city center, sir,” Q says pointing to one of the large monitors in the front of the room. Q’s voice is tense. Not quite his usual cool and collected self, but still in control of the room and the mission. Still leading 006 to Edward’s last known location via the most direct route, until Alec is able to deliver the bad news. “Agent down. No pulse. Dead at least ten minutes from the look of it.”

Expressions are grim but unsurprised as the news comes in. There’s a pause before Q replies with, “Understood. Please check for the drive and any of his tech.”

“Negative,” Alec’s voice comes over the comms. “He’s been stripped of gear.”

“Send 006 after the drive,” M orders.

“006, mission parameters being sent to your phone,” Q relays. “The drive is still in the city.”

“Copy that.”

“R, pull the kill switch on 001’s phone,” Q says over his shoulder. “They shouldn’t be able to pull data off of it, but may as well be safe.

The next several hours are grueling, and James is nearly sent to the airport to assist, but in the end, Alec pulls it off, possibly more brutally than absolutely necessary, but none of them are willing to find fault. Edward had been with them even longer than James, though he was a bit younger. They weren’t friends, but Edward had earned a level of respect from everyone, and he was going to be missed.

Afterward, they are all in M’s office deciding next steps. Q has already ordered an investigation into the informants supplying data for the mission, so any firm response will need to wait for that. “I’ll get the data to you as soon as Alec delivers it, sir.”

M takes a hard look at Q. “When did you last sleep, Quartermaster?”

Q looks up from his tablet owlishly. “I’m not sure, sir.”

“Assign the drive to your staff. Two days minimum rest. To the lot of you, actually. Tired is stupid.”

“What about you, sir?” Eve asks.

“I have an obituary to write, Miss Moneypenny. And some research to do on the man’s career to make it fitting.”

Eve looks at James, and then at Q. “Sir, we worked with him longer than you did. Perhaps we can help.”

“That’s kind of you, but you all deserve your off time. I don’t want to hold you in the office longer.”

Eve looks at Q again, and James swears those two have ESP between them.

“We could do both,” Q says quietly.

“Quartermaster?” M asks.

“The first cask has aged. We could… reconvene at mine and sample it, and perhaps remember some of 001’s more notable accomplishments.”

“I’ll even take notes,” Eve says. There’s a moment where they all just look at each other, waiting.

“If you’re sure it’s no trouble, I’d appreciate the assistance,” M admits.

James drives Q because he’d taken the tube and wants to get to his flat before the others. Not that it needs straightening. James is actually surprised that Q’s flat is kept tidy and almost minimalist, unlike the state of his office or work station. Not that it’s cold or impersonal. There are little bits of Q’s personality everywhere, but it’s uncluttered, and always welcoming. Ready for guests, even, which seems even more surprising as he’d always assumed Q was a bit of an introvert. He _is_ rather quiet tonight, as he sets out tumblers and gets a bottle of absinthe from the glass shelf. One of the displays by the casks reads ‘0’, and James finally puts it together.

“They’re count down timers?” he asks.

“Very slow ones,” Q confirms, nodding absently. “And they mark something much more pleasant than an impending explosion. I age some cocktails in the casks, but I forget how long they’ve been in there unless I set a timer. This one has just reached the three-week mark yesterday. [And it’s M’s favorite](https://teamqbranch.tumblr.com/post/186691000625/ms-favorite-is-a-very-old-drink-with-a-modern).”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Q considers for a moment. “Put on some music?” he suggests, nodding toward an iPad on a shelf. “Eve’s stopping for food, so there’s nothing to prep there. I just need to zest some oranges.”

James sorts through Q’s playlists, deciding on one called “downtempo”. It’s actually an eclectic mix of slow atmospheric electronic music and instrumental jazz and seems to suit the reserved mood.

The others arrive shortly with comfort foods; pasties and pies. Q greets everyone and starts rinsing the glasses with a bit of absinthe before dispensing the concoction from the small cask.

“Sazarac?” James asks when he sips his own.

“Yes, a variation on the original. And I mean _original_ , made with cognac, like when it was first made, and not the rye that was used after cognac became hard to get in New Orleans.”

“That explains the smoothness,” James ventures.

“The oak does that too but yes,” Q agrees.

“Just half for me,” Tanner says. “This one wallops me if I’m not careful.”

“What’s that other flavor?” James asks, sipping his again.

“Extra bitters,” M explains. “From my travels. A bit spicier than the traditional ones.” When Q dispenses the last of drinks, M raises his glass. “To our fallen friend.”

“And damned good agent,” Q says quietly.

“And someone who retained his humanity to the end,” Bond adds.

They all drink.

“When I first came over from -5,” Tanner starts, “he was on mission. My first visit to Q Branch was to observe this _disaster_ of a mission. The tech hadn’t worked—”

“It was before your time, love,” Eve assures Q.

“And I thought I was going to witness his death right there. On my first day. Instead, he pulled off what seemed like a miracle, and came back not only with the data but a contact who proved useful for years. I realized then that -6 is _not_ -5, and that Edward was not like anyone I’d worked with before. All of the Double-Ohs are fantastic, as I’ve learned since, but…”

“He had a quiet elegance in the way he got things done,” James praises. “Was that the Sarajevo mission?”

Tanner nods.

“That was a turning point. With that mission alone, he made a difference. It’s what we all hope for.”

The stories come more freely then. Eve opens a laptop and starts taking notes. Some stories show daring, some are humorous. James shares how old Q used to hold Edward up as a model for James to learn from, scowling and the memory and earning a burst of chuckles. Another round of drinks leads to more stories, emotions ranging from admiration to somber respect to humor. Eve captures it all, transforming it into a coherent obituary that honors the agent, offers glimpses of humanity without giving away secrets.

Through it all, Q grows quieter and quieter.

Slowly, the stories end and they realize that if they have another round of drinks, Q will have to find beds for them all. Eve looks worriedly at Q and is trying to catch James’ eye as M says, “Thank you all for the assistance. I’ll put some final touches on it in the morning, Thank you for your hospitality, Quartermaster. I appreciate it so.”

Q just nods.

“And the drink was delicious, as always.”

Tanner, M, and Eve get ready to leave. As Eve says her goodbye to James, she hisses into his ear, “Help him,” and then kisses his cheek to cover the message.

When those three leave, James turns back to find Q leaning against the bar heavily. James tilts his head. He picks up some of the glasses from the table. “Can I help you clean up?”

Q shrugs. It seems that now that the others are gone, Q’s mask of the polite host is slipping. There’s a strain James can see now.

“Q?”

Q sniffs and shakes his head, struggling for control. “It’s my fault,” he whispers.

“What?”

“001’s death. R warned me about the intelligence. I followed up. I was concerned, too. But I was also skeptical and allowed myself to be talked out of my concern. If I’d been more adamant…”

“Q, no. Of course, not.” James reaches out to Q’s shoulder.

The man flinches violently from his touch. “I am the _Quartermaster!”_ he cries out. “The Double-Ohs are _my_ responsibility. And I let myself doubt my own conclusions. I...I…”

Q’s expression is rage and pain. Tears are forming in his eyes. It makes James want to fight him and comfort him. “How many people looked at those data? How many people decided to go forward with the mission?”

“A half-dozen. But it’s still on me. It’s still—”

“No,” James insists. "M signed off on it. He bears the final weight of the decision, _as he is meant to do_. You did your job, warning of a concern. You _cannot_ take on M’s responsibility as well as your own.” He grasps Q by the shoulders, turning him to face him directly. “You’ll burn out if you try, and we need you, Q. I need you.”

Q is taking gulping breaths, trying to regain control of himself, and James can’t help but pull him against his chest, threading fingers into his hair. “It wasn’t your fault,” James murmurs. “Certainly not yours alone. Hell, even _I_ indicated that things looked clear based on what we had. I would have happily gone to out based on that information.”

“That doesn’t help, actually,” Q says into his chest, voice uneven. He has one arm wrapped around James’ waist and the other flung over his shoulder, clinging to him like a life preserver. “I shouldn’t feel this, but in addition to the guilt and the pain of it, I… I feel _relief_ that it wasn’t you.”

“Q.” James tips his head back so he can see his face. It’s utterly sincere, but also wracked with guilt. James almost imagines he’s an armload of potential energy, and just a spark would set him off into a glorious, kinetic explosion of… something. Fury. Wrath. Self-destruction. James brushes the tears away with his thumbs as he cups Q’s face, trying to soothe the pain and diffuse the impending eruption. “It’s natural when a colleague dies to wonder what we could have done differently. And it’s natural to be grateful that others are alive when faced so immediately with mortality. It doesn’t mean you grieve him less. Edward would never hold any of it against you. You’re the best Quartermaster we’ve had, and you certainly care the most. And sometimes, we do everything right, and we still lose. That’s just life.”

“You’re quoting _Picard_ to me at a time like this?” Q asks incredulously, half-smile showing through his tears.

“The fact that you recognize it means I chose the right reference.” James brushes Q’s fringe from his brow with a soft smile, and Q takes a shuddering breath. James feels for a moment that perhaps he _has_ managed to diffuse this situation and that Q is regaining his balance, He brushes Q’s curls again, and moves to kiss him on the cheek.

With a slight turn of his face, Q intercepts the kiss hungrily, and power of that contained energy flashes hot in lips and teeth and tongue. James has already responded in kind, pulling Q closer and backing him against the wall, taking control of the kiss... when some semblance of sanity raises a red flag in the back of his mind. He pulls away and whispers, “Q, I’m not sure this is the best—”

Q pulls him back into the kiss, but there’s a desperate edge to it that feels wrong. That feels… James backs away again.

“Oh god,” Q says, finally realizing that James is pulling back. His expression twists again and he looks… mortified. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Just go. Just… please…”

“Q, I’m not _rejecting_ you,” James nearly growls, pinning Q against the wall and twisting his own body so Q can clearly feel his erection pressing against Q’s own. “If you really want it, I’ll happily take you to your bedroom and tell you everything I thought when I saw you pull up to that bar on a fucking _motorbike_ , turning every head as you came to my table. I’ll take you apart and make you forget your goddamn _name._ If you can promise me that you won’t wake up in the morning and immediately regret it, and think I took advantage of you because you were in a compromised state. But if you can’t,” James steals another quick kiss. “If you aren’t sure, I’d rather wait. Because it’s much more important to me that I get to do this again tomorrow,” James kisses him, “and the next day,” James kisses him again, “than that I get to take you to bed tonight.”

Q sags, and James knows he’s right. Q may want him, but at least for tonight, it’s for all the wrong reasons.

Q’s fisting James’ shirt, and leans his brow against James’ chest. It’s a different kind of intimacy, and James strokes Q’s head and shoulders, trying to comfort him and make him realize that James isn’t going anywhere,

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” Q admits.

“You don’t have to be,” James assures him. “I’ll stay.” He lowers a kiss on Q’s brow. “I’ll stay.”


	7. Ginger Vodka and Madrone Brandy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this chapter took so long to finish. I honestly have no idea why except Fest Drop. And the responsibilities I'd been ignoring, plus back to school... okay, maybe it's understandable, but still, I'm sorry.
> 
> No beta on this, so my mistakes are my own...

8 - HANSON’S GINGER VODKA: A smooth vodka with a zesty ginger spice amidst the creamy flavors, each sip brings notes of ginger, butter, and pepperoncini.

9 - MADRONE FLAVORED BRANDY: San Juan Island Distillery’s barrel-aged apple brandy infused with madrone bark and blossoms. It’s complex, an elegant brandy tinged with subtle woodsy overtones and spices.

James wakes in an unfamiliar bed with a very familiar mop of curls on the pillow next to him.

Q.

The turmoil of the night before rushes back to his mind, but it feels distant in the peace of the morning. Q is still sleeping, the dark smudge of his lashes hiding the circles under his eyes from a stressful week, his face lax and impossibly young-looking in the morning light. Not like the weary, anguished pain of the night before.

There’s a strange intimacy in witnessing a breakdown. In being trusted with it. James feels the honor of it to his core, being allowed to see the precise and buttoned-up Quartermaster let go of every control, give himself over the grief, and trust James to see him through it.

It’s been a long time since James has been trusted like that.

Q begins to stir, the warmth of the sunlight finally reaching his face. There’s a long sigh, a stretch like a cat, and then his eyes open. And he freezes.

“James?” Several emotions pass across Q’s face. James can’t quite suss what they all are.

“Good morning, Q.”

Q tucks a hand between his cheek and his pillow. “You stayed.”

“Of course I stayed,” James says, reaching up to brush a curl from Q’s brow. “I said I would.”

“I know, but…” Embarrassment. That’s definitely one of the emotions. And perhaps caution. “I made such a scene.”

“No, you didn’t,” James assures.

“I really did.” He scans James’ form. “Your vest is still damp from where I cried on you.”

James just raises an eyebrow. Reaching over his head and behind his back, he grabs a fistful of fabric and pulls off the thin cotton in one smooth motion, tossing it on the floor before settling back down beside Q. “There. Now the evidence is gone. It’ll be our little secret.”

Q huffs a laugh, but then eyes James’ chest again, this time with a heat in his eyes reminiscent of the kiss the night before. Good. It wasn’t just a desperate need for connection in the midst of his grief.

“How are you feeling?” James asks, drawing Q’s eyes back up to his face.

“Better,” Q admits, looking up sheepishly.

“Good. Nothing like a bit of catharsis to make the world seem more bearable,” James says, brushing Q’s fringe back again.

“You never need it,” Q sighs.

“Like hell I don’t. Last night was good for me, too.”

Q blushes. Because of course that had sounded much more suggestive than James had meant it. Not that he particularly minds. Interest simmers in his gut as Q’s gaze sweeps across his bare chest again. Q seems much more himself this morning. Much more the man James has been slowly getting to know through his drinks and his hospitality. Not merely the competent Quartermaster, but the man who gave him a sly look over a gin flight and accused him of having a heart beneath the prickles. That sly look is gone at the moment, and in its place is something sweet and genuine.

“I’m sorry I attacked you last night,” Q offers gently. Not completely sorry, judging from the tone. Testing, maybe.

James hums in response, brushing fingers along the curls at Q’s temple. They’re soft against his fingers. “I didn’t actually mind,” James admits. “As I tried to explain. But since you’re still a bit confused, perhaps I _should_ tell you what happened when you arrived at the gin place last week.”

“I was there, James,” Q says with a soft smile. “I know what happened.”

“You know part of it. I think you have a blind spot.”

Q grins, a gleam entering his eyes that James likes. “What did I miss?”

“Well,” James says, moving a bit closer, “there I was, sitting alone, nervous—”

Q scoffs.

“Curious,” James amends as Q smirks, “about what, if anything, you might be expecting or hoping for. I was a bit surprised, actually, that you’d agreed to come out at all without our chaperone.”

“Our chaperone who got drunk and passed out on the chaise the time before?”

“That’s the one,” James agrees. “Whom I thought you might be _dating_ the time before that.”

“Oh god,” Q sniggers. “No. That’s not possible.”

“Lucky for me. I wouldn’t be able to compete at all; I don’t look nearly so good in a pencil skirt. Anyway, there I was, thinking about our interactions the last few times, how you seemed to be relaxing around me and how appealing I found it, wondering if you were finding it all as… interesting as I was… when those thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a man pulling up to the front of the restaurant on this sleek motorbike, all long legs and black jeans… I confess the thought actually crossed my mind that if I weren’t waiting for someone so _very_ worthwhile, I’d definitely try to pull that.”

Q snorts.

“Then you removed your helmet, and I realized I was in serious, _serious_ trouble. And I wasn’t alone. When you walked in, every woman and half the men in that bar turned to watch.”

“They did not,” Q scoffs. “Now you’re just teasing.”

“Never,” James protests, brushing his fingers along Q’s temple. “Every last one of them had the same thought I had, but you didn’t even glance at them. Your eyes found me in the crowd, your face lit up, and you bee-lined straight over, disappointing the majority of the patrons of that bar and making me feel…”

“What?” Q asks as James pauses. He’s somehow scooted James could almost wrap and arm around him now. Mere inches separate them, and he can feel the heat coming of Q’s lean form.

“Lucky,” James finally says. “I have a bit of a competency kink—”

Q raises an eyebrow.

“—so I’ve had my eye on you in that capacity for a while...as one would,” he practically leers, making Q laugh again. “And then these visits to your home. You’re different when you aren’t being _just_ the Quartermaster. There’s a looseness to you. And a warm generosity I hadn’t really seen in the Branch. But I was _still_ not prepared for the vision of you in skinny jeans on a motorbike. I thought about it _many_ times afterward.”

“Did you now?” Q asks. “And here I thought you only liked me for my gadgets.”

“Well, I _do_ like your gadgets. And I’m always impressed by your clever fingers, whether they’re typing away at the keyboard or concocting some cocktail designed for someone else.”

Q raises his eyebrow, noting the spot of petulance in James’ tone. James can’t really help feeling envious, though. He now understands just how much care Q puts into designing drinks for others, and he feels almost desperate to have that attention on himself. Particularly now that his attraction to the boffin feels so complete: intellectual, emotional, physical. It’s all he can do to keep from wrapping an arm around the small of Q’s back and pulling him forward so the boffin realizes just _exactly_ how much James wants him. As much as he did last night when he pushed their cocks together even as he told Q, “not yet.” Now, seeing Q all sleep rumpled and calm and _himself_ , James finds he’s having a very difficult time being a gentleman. Fortunately, Q is getting brave again.

“My fingers?” Q asks, reaching out to brush his fingertips against James’ chest. James watches Q’s expression go from almost shy to practically triumphant as James takes a shuddering breath and savors the touch. “And did I detect a bit of jealousy when you mentioned the cocktails? Just because I haven’t shared yours with you yet?”

That catches his attention. “You’ve created a drink for me?”

“I’ve started no fewer than four,” Q admits. “You’re a complicated man, and very... _inspiring_ in a number of different ways. After the disaster of the Milan mission, I considered making one that had to be set on fire.”

James huffs a laugh.

“I’ve started whiskey drinks, vodka drinks, infusions… but none of them ever felt quite right and I set them aside. I suspect I’ll just have to spend more time with you before I settle on satisfactory recipes for those.”

“Hmmm. The sacrifices you make for your art,” James quips, finally resting a hand on Q’s hip, over the thin t-shirt. “So I have several half-drinks, and nothing fit for public consumption. Perhaps you do know me.”

“I never said I hadn’t finished one. In fact, I just finalized the first recipe a few days ago. Your martini.”

Something warm blooms in James’ chest, and he slips his thumb under the hem of Q’s tee. “I have a special martini now? Am I right in assuming that Kirsty’s Gin plays a role?”

“That was the final ingredient I needed,” Q acknowledges, breath hitching as James’ thumb strokes the bare skin at his waist. “It did a perfect job of balancing the other ingredients.”

“Which are? I know how much thought you put into these things. I find myself very curious about what served as your inspiration if it wasn’t my panache for destruction. Is there Curaçao so it matches my eyes?”

Q huffs a laugh and shakes his head, biting his lip. His eyes fall closed momentarily as James’ hand travels further under his shirt, stroking the line of his spine.

“Tell me,” James purrs, pulling Q closer until their erections brush against each other.

“Oh god,” Q drapes an arm over James’ waist. “Ah. Your scent. It’s… I think I’ve been obsessed with you cologne since sitting next to you at the National Gallery, actually. It’s taken me ages to get enough exposure to find appropriate corollaries for a cocktail.”

“My cologne?” James asks, because really, he had not seen that coming. But he likes the idea that Q has been thinking about this for so very long… long before James even knew he created his own cocktails.

“Hmmm. It has a woodsy sort of base, so I kept wanting to make the base whiskey or bourbon or something that had been barrel-aged, but it never worked. The whiskey taste was too strong. And then I had to make the spices strong to compete, but the spice in your cologne is really subtle. You have to get close to distinguish the scents.”

“I like it when you get close,” James says, pushing Q’s shirt up. “Take this off and tell me what you decided on when the whiskey didn’t work.”

It takes a moment of fumbling for Q to divest himself of his shirt, and then James has free rein to explore alabaster skin, Q arching into the touch like a bloody cat. Q has fallen silent — or at least non-verbal — so James asks again, “what did you use for the drink?”

“Oh… ah… a brandy… infused with Madrona bark. It’s rich and very woodsy. Almost like sandalwood. And then… oh god, that feels nice. Ginger vodka. I kept thinking there was citrus in your cologne, but ginger comes much closer. Fuck, that feels good.”

James pushes Q onto his back and hovers over him, kissing along his collarbone. “Ginger?”

“Yes,” Q pants. “I can even smell it now. You smell so fucking good.” Q’s fingers clutch at James’ back, card through his hair. “But the spices were the hardest. Too subtle for usual spiced bourbon or mulled cider. You don’t smell like bloody Christmas. Everything was wrong. But then I found a cardamom and saffron bitters, and it was perfect. It just needed the salt of the Kirsty’s Gin to act as a counterpoint.”

“I want to taste it,” James says against Q’s throat.

“What, _now_? At half seven or whatever it is?”

“No. It’s too early even for me. We’ll have to find some way to occupy ourselves for the majority of the day.”

Q bucks up as James sucks a bruise onto his throat. “Any suggestions?” he groans.

“I can think of one or two,” James quips, dragging a hand down to the edge of Q’s pants. Q raises his hips so James can push the fabric down, and there’s no more talking for quite a while.

Afterward, and after a very decadent shower, James takes Q to a nearby cafe for breakfast. They sit together, Q sipping his Earl Grey and James drinking his coffee, and James is mildly surprised at how comfortable it is. It’s by far the longest he’s spent with Q — between the mission and the obituary and the breakdown overnight — and yet James feels perfectly content to sip his coffee and share the paper and enjoy Q’s wry commentary about both. When they’ve had their fill, James asks, “Do you think Beef Wellington or Chicken Marsala would pair better with [my martini](https://ato-the-bean.tumblr.com/post/187368375210/james-madrone-martini)?”

“Where are we going to get either of those?”

“We’ll make it,” James answers

“Oh, no. Ah... look, James. There’s a reason Moneypenny always brings the food over. I’m a terrible cook. Truly, bloody awful.” It’s said with such sincerity that James can only smile.

“Oh, I know. Or at least, Miss Moneypenny has shared a few stories.”

“Oh. Well, that’s... mortifying and probably for the best. So you see, it would be _much_ better if we can find some takeaway. I’ve tried a few things with your martini while perfecting it, and—”

“Q?’ James interrupts.

“Hmmm.”

“I’m a very _good_ cook.”

Q blinks. “Are you? When did you find time for that?”

“That’s another story. But for now, which do you think will go better, the chicken or the beef? Or something else if you have an idea. We’ll go shopping, and I’ll make you dinner.”

“That seems—”

“Like the least I can do considering you _invented a drink_ for me? Not to mention a very pleasant way to spend an afternoon? Not as pleasant as the morning, perhaps, but I daresay we’ll need sustenance.” James winks, and Q gapes for a moment and then grins.

“The beef. So long as you’re sure I don’t need to help.”

“Well, you might be able to help some… can you chop vegetables without slicing your thumb open?”

Q shrugs. “I manage okay with the citrus and herbs for the drinks.”

“There you go. You can help with prep and sort out beverages, and I’ll manage the oven and the burners. Do I need to buy you pots and pans?”

“No,” Q says, shaking his head. “I have the basics. That seems… an equitable division of labor.”

James folds the paper and sets it on the table amongst the dirty dishes. “As ever, our skill sets are complementary.”

Q gives him that crooked smirk. The same one James first saw at the National Gallery. “I suppose that’s useful.”

“Very useful in any partnership,” James asserts, and Q’s grin grows wider, showing his dimple. “Are you ready? I’m feeling adventurous. I might have to come up with multiple courses.”

“Then I might have to come up with multiple drinks. Now that your martini is finished — assuming you like it — I can focus on the whiskey drink.”

“Oh, there’s little doubt I’ll like it. The way you described it… every ingredient so thoroughly thought through and tied to something you know of me… even if I haven’t tried all those liquors before, they sounded perfectly attuned to my taste. Honestly, I don’t know how you can improve on it.”

“You haven’t even tried it yet.”

“I know, but… it really does sound delicious. How can you possibly come up with something else that would be equally tied to my tastes and yet different?”

Q sets his tea down and looks at James quite intently.

“You, James Bond, are an infinitely inspiring and intriguing man, and I do believe — given time and opportunity to study you — I could easily come up with at least _ten_ distinct drinks based on my impressions of you. Though at least one may involve fire.”

James laughs. “I may be willing to give you time to work up twice that many,” he suggests, tracing a finger along Q’s hand. He could get used to this. He really could. 

Q’s eyes positively gleam with happiness. “Well,” he says, raising his mug of tea, “I’ll drink to that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading.


End file.
